Call of Freedom
by Emerald Queen
Summary: The Princes of Mirkwood, feeling stifled and over-protected, sneak off to join a patrol that is hunting for poachers. As the princes make their escape, three young novices are caught up in something far too big for them. 12 years after PoM
1. In Western Lands Beneath The Sun

CALL OF FREEDOM  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the places mentioned in this fiction. I do, however own many of the cast; you'll easily be able to tell which ones once you start reading. Squirrel and Celrin, for example, are mine, as are all the princes apart from Legolas. Obviously. The plot is also mine. Please do not take it, for whatever reasons you may have.  
  
A/N: It's taken me so long to get this story started! I mean, honestly! I was bitten by the Plot Bunny for this piece a couple of months ago. I suppose, I wanted to get Princes of Mirkwood finished first though, so I didn't get too much going on. This piece is set quite a few years after that one was. This is not, I repeat, NOT an evil!Thranduil fiction. He loves his sons dearly, and would rather die a thousand painful deaths than have one of them die. Due to certain events though - see Princes Of Mirkwood - he has become over-protective and dreads loosing the princes a second time around.  
  
I don't think there are many new characters. The princes are all regulars, so are Culkemen and Silnan, and the three novices are introduced in Finishing The Tapestry. Also, a huge thanks to all the people I used as guinea pigs to test out various ideas. I think that's about it, so. . . happy reading! Please leave a review when you've finished!  
  
CHAPTER 1 ~ That Cooped Up Feeling  
  
The golden haired prince of Mirkwood was lying sprawled across his bed, his head tipped back over the edge. He stared at his three, older brothers with a blank, bored expression. No noise was echoing in the large space; no songs or instruments playing, no conversation, nothing. In short, the three lounging princes were bored out of their minds.  
  
At last, Legolas twisted on to his front, almost falling off the bed as he did so, and propped himself up on to his elbows. His loose hair flopped over his shoulders, gently tickling the backs of his hands.  
  
"Where are Oroweth and Astaler?" he asked the oldest of the assembled brothers; Nuryävié. The prince shrugged his shoulders and rested his chin on his knees in a very un-princely manner.  
  
"Oroweth is with adar somewhere, discussing. . . something. He did tell me, but I am afraid I was not listening to him at the time. I think Astaler will be with his novices, down at the training grounds." Nilwethion replied where Nuryävié had just shrugged. Leaning his back against the dark, wooden desk, the prince stretched his long legs out and sighed with boredom. In between Nuryävié and Nilwethion, Thellind was lying sprawled out on his front, his chin resting in his pale hands. His eyes seemed to be glazed over with boredom.  
  
Looking down at the three of them from his vantage point on the bed, Legolas gave a frustrated growl and flopped, letting his arms dangle and his head drop.  
  
"If I do not have anything to do soon, I will go mad!" moaned Nuryävié, his fair voice full of despair.  
  
"We could. . ." Nilwethion sat up and craned his neck, his bright eyes flickering around the room in the hope that he would find something. He failed his quest and slumped against the desk again.  
  
For a few minutes, the princes sat there in silence, their eyes glazing over one by one. At last, from where his face was buried in the silky bed sheets and thick quilt, Legolas made a muffled announcement.  
  
"I wish adar would let us leave this Valar forsaken place! He is being far too over protective! I wish that he would let us run around in the forest again, and go wherever we please!"  
  
"I do not blame him for being like this," sighed Nuryävié. Beside him, Thellind nodded in agreement, his eyes loosing a little of their glazed look as the suggestion of conversation promised to begin getting interesting. Legolas raised his head and glared at his brother.  
  
"It happened years ago, Nuryävié. The orcs have been driven back! There are none roaming this part of the forest any more!"  
  
At this point, Nilwethion joined the debate.  
  
"Try telling adar that."  
  
"You know full well we have already tried many times, Nilwethion."  
  
The short conversation faded away, and Thellind wriggled uncomfortably, his muscles aching from having lain on the floor so long. His mossy green tunic crumpled under his shifting weight, causing already crinkled lines to cross over and twist around. The silent prince began idly running his slender fingers through his hair, tugging at the occasional knot. With every passing moment, the silence grew heavier and heavier, pressing down on the four bored princes like a lead weight attempting to drown them. At last, the large door was pushed open and Oroweth slipped through the gap. His brothers looked up expectantly, their faces brightening visibly at the thought of news.  
  
The black haired prince glided over to them and slipped down on to the bed beside Legolas. His dark green tunic was, as always, crease free and looking as though he had only just put it on, even though he had been wearing it all day. In the flickering, white candle light which lit up the room, his eyes twinkled wearily as he blinked owlishly.  
  
"What news?" begged Legolas, eagerly pushing himself up in to a cross legged position. He stared at his brother with wide, blue eyes and bit his lower lip with anticipation. Anything to quench such dire boredom was welcomed. The heir to Mirkwood's crown had the full attention of his four siblings.  
  
"Apparently, animal traps have been found in the forest a few miles in to the forest, away to the south west. Adar suspects mortal poachers; Dwarves or Men, he is not sure which. It is unlikely to be the woodmen, they keep away from us. . ." Oroweth was stopped mid flow by his brother cutting across him.  
  
"What is to be done about it?" asked Nilwethion. Instead of becoming annoyed at the rude interruption, Oroweth just pursed his lips and answered the question.  
  
"Adar is picking a few warriors to go and find out who is setting the traps, and then to capture them and bring them back here for questioning."  
  
An eager, dangerous glint sparked up in the corner of Legolas' eye and a hopeful grin lit up his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oroweth stopped him with a worried shake of his head.  
  
"Do not even think it, little Greenleaf. Adar will never let you go." Legolas stopped smiling and his happy face drooped in to caged misery. He hung his head sadly, making Oroweth squirm and feel terrible. To hide this, the prince carried on talking.  
  
"I think that there are about twenty of them going on the search. . ." again, the unfortunate prince was cut off mid flow. This time it was Nuryävié who spoke, voicing his question.  
  
"Who is leading them?"  
  
Oroweth thought for a moment, suddenly aware of being closely watched by four sets of piercing, bright eyes. Each pair glittered in the candle light like sun on the waves. For one who had spent so much time in the company of the owners of the eyes, Oroweth was still disconcerted by the stares. Although he was not aware of it, he gave such looks to others and had the power to make them feel just as uncomfortable as he was at the moment.  
  
"Captain Culkemen, I think adar said."  
  
He shut his eyes tightly to avoid the triumphant expressions playing on his brothers faces. He knew his brothers more than well enough to know exactly what was coming. The different reactions to such an important piece of news were, so far as Oroweth was concerned, obvious. First, Legolas would suggest twisting Culkemen around his little finger and persuading her to let them tag along without asking Thranduil. . .  
  
"We must tell her that adar has allowed us to go at last!" whispered Legolas, his voice bursting with excitement and a longing to be free of the fatherly love ensnaring him like a bird in a cage, "She will be easy to convince! You all know how motherly she feels towards us! Ever since the journey back from Imladris she has had a soft spot for us born from pity!"  
  
. . . And then Nuryävié would half heartedly argue about not using people. . .  
  
"Are you sure, Legolas?" asked Nuryävié, a second or two after Legolas' idea had sunk in. The prince frowned slightly. "Adar has always taught us that it is wrong to manipulate people in such a way, after all."  
  
. . . And then Nilwethion would make sure that his views were heard. Joining Legolas' side, of course. It was rare for the two to disagree on such a subject. . .  
  
"She will not mind, silly. You know as well as we do that Culkemen would surely love to have us under her wing again!" A mischievous twinkle like a star plucked from the heavens twinkled in the eye of the young prince.  
  
. . . And then, as always was the case these days, Nuryävié would give in and go along with the plan. . .  
  
Nuryavie sighed in the manner of one defeated in a harsh battle. A small smile then pushed up the corners of his mouth and he nodded. "Very well, we must go and find the gallant captain as soon as possible."  
  
The prince stood up to leave, brushing down his leaf green, soft cotton tunic and his off-white leggings. . .  
  
. . . Then Thellind will put up a protest and try to persuade them not to go along with the plan. Silent, as always, using those big, irresistible eyes of his. . .  
  
As Oroweth had mentally predicted, Thellind immediately sat bolt upright and stared at the three of his brothers who were about to make an escape attempt. His large, blue eyes shone sadly, small, possibly fake tears welling up in their corners. His lower lip trembled slightly and the silent prince clenched his dainty fingers on the rug as he shook his head vigorously. Although he hated being so cooped up, he had a very soft heart and hated the thought of Thranduil being distraught when he found them missing.  
  
Legolas averted his eyes, scared that he would become fall in to the trap he so often fell in to; being persuaded against something by his elder brother. This time, he was determined to sneak out of the underground palace that kept him so bitterly confined, proving to the king that none of the princes needed to be wrapped up in cotton wool and that they could, in fact, look after themselves.  
  
"Not this time, Thellind. Will you not come with us, though?"  
  
With shock, Thellind shook his head again, his hair whipping through the air with each twist of the neck. He folded his arms resolutely, just to prove his point.  
  
"Oroweth, will you come?" asked Legolas, looking next towards the thoughtful figure sitting on the bed. His reply, again, was a simple shake of the head.  
  
"Nay, little Greenleaf. If I go as well, think how much adar will worry. Thellind will not be able to tell him where you are; he has not spoken a word for years and is unlikely to start again now. Astaler will not have the faintest idea where you have gone, unless you bump in to him as you leave, which is very unlikely, and if you leave a note without a messenger to deliver it, adar will never find it until he has emptied all his warriors in to the forest to find you and return you back home, safe and sound. If I stay here, however, I can persuade him not to send anybody after you. Besides. . . think what would happen if his most trusted advisor left his side."  
  
As the words of the last sentence embedded themselves in Legolas' head, the prince grinned and shook his head at Oroweth. The latter smirked back, a merry twinkle in his eye.  
  
"You will find Culkemen by the gates, if I am not very much mistaken," he said, and then, as the three escapees were fleeing the chamber, he added in a whisper; "Good luck to the three of you."  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
Sometime later, a young novice poked his head around a smooth, stone corner near the gates of the cavernous palace. Making sure that the coast was clear, he slid around the corner, keeping as close to the wall as could, his pale face flickering in and out of the inconstant candle light. With another quick check to make sure he was alone, he turned around and beckoned to somebody behind him with a long, skinny arm. Almost instantly, two more novices appeared behind him, moving swiftly and scanning their surroundings with bright, clear eyes.  
  
The novice in front took a couple of slow, careful steps forward in to the light. As the glow from the torches hanging in their brackets on the wall settled for a few moments, the novices face became clearer, revealing a quite feminine beauty. Long, dark eyelashes flicked every time the elf blinked his pretty blue eyes, and not a single blemish marked his skin. Over his back was slung a small bow; the type the novices were given to train with, and in his thin belt a white knife was resting snugly in its sheath.  
  
"Squirrel, can you see anyone?" hissed one of the novices. Her long hair had been pulled back in to a loose plait which ran down her back; a few stray strands were already beginning to pull loose. In her right hand was clutched a small dagger, identical to the one in the belt of the novice named Squirrel.  
  
"No - the cost is clear," came the quiet reply. The trio, constantly looking around suspiciously in case they were seen and caught, scurried down the narrow side passage until they came to a crossroads in the tunnel.  
  
"Can you see anyone?" asked the third novice - a young boy about the same age as Squirrel. This was Celrin. A mischievous youth with black hair, deep brown eyes and a light hearted, non-serious approach to everything he ever did. Again, Squirrel replied with a 'no'. This time, however, the question from his companion had distracted the youth so his scouting eyes had missed three figures that were striding down the corridor to his left.  
  
Just as the unfortunate elf stepped in to the corridor, the mysterious warrior stepped towards the same spot. Resultantly, the two crashed in to each other and fell to the floor. Squirrel blinked, dazed, as his two companions slunk back in to the shadows nervously, waiting with baited breath to see the outcome.  
  
The warrior in the long cloak with a pack on his back was helped to his feet by an equally hidden companion, and the third member of the party picked up Squirrel, who rubbed his forehead mournfully after cracking it against the grey, stone wall when he fell. He bit his lip anxiously, and made a small, apologetic bow.  
  
"I apologise, sir. I am afraid I did not see you, for knocking in to you."  
  
The young novice cursed himself silently as he listened to the nervous stutter in his sadly small voice. He hung his head. To his great and everlasting surprise, the warriors laughed.  
  
Sensing that they were not in any great trouble, Celrin and the other novice, Caranthon, crept forwards out from the shadows. Nervously and still a little shocked, Squirrel stared at the three warriors with the shadowed faces hidden under green hoods. They were now watching the three young novices with equal fascination. At last, the tallest one spoke.  
  
"Now what are three novices like yourselves doing wandering the corridors near the gate at this late hour? Armed for battle as if for battle as well, I see. I hope you are not planning to do something silly like sneaking out to the forest to kill a few spiders." His words were greeted with light laughter from his two companions, but the three novices looked at each other with uncertainty, their cheeks tinted with a red, wine-like colour.  
  
"No sir, we would never try hunting spiders unless we had Master Astaler or Master Luinorn!" This time, one of the hooded warriors tilted his head as if with interest.  
  
"You like Master Astaler?"  
  
On safer ground, the three novices nodded. They were not lying, either. Astaler was easier on them than Luinorn had been, giving them more freedom to show their individuality and not scolding them so harshly if they made a mistake. In this way, although all the novices respected Luinorn, they had grown to trust Astaler and held a deeper loyalty to him.  
  
"You still have not answered my brothers other question," spoke the smallest of the three warriors, "so I find myself all the more interested in you. What is it you are doing?"  
  
This time, Caranthon babbled the answer out. It was not as though it was a secret.  
  
"We have to get through the main gates without asking for permission, sir. When we get through the gates, we have to go and find Master Astaler at our training grounds so he knows that we have done it. If we get there within the time limit, Master Astaler. . . well, nobody knows what Master Astaler does then, sir, because nobody has managed to get that far yet. We were doing really well, until Squirrel bumped in to you, sir."  
  
"I would not have done, if Celrin had not distracted me," muttered the unfortunate novice under his breath. This was the cause for more laughter from the tall warriors.  
  
"It would seem to me, little one, that you and your friends have done better by meeting us than you would do if you had not. You would not have got through the main gates because the guards there are quite aware that there are novices trying to escape. That is where we can help you. Pull your hoods over your faces and follow us. Here, take this." The speaker swung his pack in to Squirrel's hands, and the novice looked at it in shock. He then looked up at the warrior with his blue eyes wide open.  
  
"You are helping us get through the gates?"  
  
"Of course we are, little one. Hurry up, we have to get to Culkemen and the others before nightfall! Oh, and hide the bows. Only novices use those bows - you would be caught instantly."  
  
With their hoods pulled over their heads and their small bows hidden out of sight, the three youngsters scurried after the elder Elves, astounded at the sudden and unexpected turn of luck that had crossed their paths. After a moment of deep thought, Caranthon asked a question which had been niggling her.  
  
"Sir, when you become a warrior, do you not have to speak of the Captains as 'Captain?'"  
  
With a smile and a flash of cheeky eyes, glittering in the light of the fiery torchlight that flickered happily from the walls, one of the warriors - Caranthon could not tell which, as they all looked the same with hoods and cloaks - turned around and winked at her.  
  
"Nay, little one. Only when you become a prince." 


	2. The Flowers May Rise In Spring

A/N: The idea of the poisoned thorns is borrowed from Very. She has given me permission, although it was a fair while ago now, but it still holds. If, for whatever reason, you want to use the idea of the poisoned thorns, it's her you need to ask; not me. The little flowers on the thorn bushes, however, are of my invention.  
  
CHAPTER 2 - The Flowers May Rise In Spring  
  
A short distance from the gates of the Woodland King, six hooded and cloaked figures were hurrying towards the trees, where a small group of warriors stood in the dusk, waiting for them. Shadows played behind them, dancing in the light of the failing, red sun and the rising, silver moon. When they reached the warriors standing under the protection of the forest canopy, the three smaller figures shook back their hoods with light laughter, much to the surprise of the waiting warriors. Two of them carried packs on their backs, and swung them in to the hands of the princes, white teeth sparkling in the light of the moon above them.  
  
"Thank you very much, your majesties," breathed one, his long blonde hair tucked in to the neck of his cloak. He bowed quickly, and then dashed off towards the training grounds to find master Astaler. The other two quickly bowed with a 'thank you, your majesties,' and then scampered off after their friends, avoiding treading on the new flowers that were just beginning to sprout from the ground.  
  
The three princes turned and grinned at Culkemen, who was staring at them with more than a little surprise.  
  
"Would you be so kind as to explain what just happened, prince Legolas? I assume you are the reason behind whatever just happened."  
  
The young, Elven royal smiled even more widely with a wicked grin.  
  
"They had to get past the guards at the gate without being given permission. . ."  
  
"Stop there," Culkemen sighed, "I think I understand perfectly now. We are not waiting for anybody else - you were the last to arrive. Come along."  
  
The motherly captain turned on her heal and led the way in to the dark, shadowy forest. Clasped in her hand and held above her head was a burning torch to light their way, expelling a little of the surrounding gloom as she and her warriors passed through it. Beneath her feet, the ground, muddy from a recent rainfall, hardly noticed her passing, and as she stepped lightly forwards, only the slight hint of a footprint was embedded in the spring-time earth. Behind her, with equally hard to see footprints that only one of their own kind - or perhaps one of the Rangers of the North - could find, the loyal, handpicked warriors followed. Legolas, Nuryävié and Nilwethion brought up the rear, their hearts pounding with anticipation and the taste of their long missed freedom playing on the tips of their tongues.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
Closely followed by Caranthon and Celrin, Squirrel bounced happily in to the training grounds where Astaler and Luinorn were sparing. In truth, the two novice trainers had not expected any of the novices to make it through the gates. Few ever did, after all, and although Squirrel was a good fighter and a promising tactician, he was more than a little scatterbrained; Celrin, also a very good fighter, had a short concentration span, and as for Caranthon, although she would probably be able to make it through the gates if left to her own devices due to being so quiet and being able to fade in to the background well, usually left the other two to do her thinking. It was a surprise, therefore, when the three happy novices bounded up to the much older pair, and then stood still, their eyes shining with pride, waiting for the verdict.  
  
"Well done," commented Astaler, hiding his shock well, making it seem as though he knew all along that the novices would find a way past the guards. "Do you know how long it is since any novices managed to find a way around the guards?"  
  
"Three years, sir!" piped Caranthon immediately. Her pale cheeks were practically glowing with glee.  
  
"Again, well done," said Luinorn, nodding slowly. "I wonder, has Master Astaler here told you what task you would be given once you got through the gates?"  
  
The energy and happiness that had been swelling in the three novices suddenly drained, their shoulders visibly sagging. Celrin looked up at Luinorn in dismay, his eyes widening, reflecting in the light of the crescent moon.  
  
"There is another task, sir?"  
  
The small smile that had touched Luinorn's lips twitched, the smile increasing in size. It was not an evil or malicious smile as such, but it was the kind of smile that made Elven novices very worried. Squirrel shifted uneasily beneath the gaze of his elders.  
  
"Yes, Celrin, there is another task. Do not worry, it is not overly difficult." Again, the three novices shivered involuntarily under the steady gaze of Luinorn. "All you have to do is find the thorn bushes where the archers acquire the poison for the tips of their arrows. Bring us back three of the thorns each. Be careful not to catch your flesh on one of the thorns though; if you do not receive medicine fast enough it may kill you. Also on the plants are small flowers, just beginning to open after the last of the winter frosts. You must also bring back one of these each, just to prove you did not take the thorns from the supplies of the warriors. Do you understand?"  
  
With faces so white that the snow would seem colourful in contrast, the novices nodded soberly. They knew where the thorn bushes were to be found, of course, but they were quite deep in to the forest, and it was unwise to go there in the dead of night as spiders prowled around them not very far away, and the wolves and wargs hunted for food in that area. Squirrel gulped nervously. Why did the task have to be so difficult?  
  
"May we wait until daybreak, sir?" asked the Elf, his voice quivering. He bit his lip with hope.  
  
"If you had found a way out of the palace at day break, Squirrel, you would have been able to searching for the thorns at day break. As it is, you must go and find them now. Away with you."  
  
The three worried novices scampered off in to the black shadows, the moon disappearing from view above the thick, twisted branches of the trees, and the last rays of the sun could hardly penetrate the forest beyond the first few trees when it was this low. Having not realised that they would be sent off on another quest, not one of the novices had thought to take a light with them, so they were left in the pitch blackness. When they were not far in to the blackness, Caranthon stopped.  
  
We could take a tree route," she suggested, "We know the trees better than the ground, after all."  
  
After a moments pause, the two boys nodded, although they could hardly be seen by Caranthon, and mortal eyes would not have been able to see them at all. They had to admit, it was a good idea. The trio scrambled up one of the trees; an ancient thing covered in dark swarms of ivy, it's old bark peeling off in places and it's branches so knotted it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
Picking their way through the dark, night-time forest, the twinkling lights of the Elven warriors portrayed the fact that the band of warriors with the three royal escapologists were heading in a direct line to the south west. The direction that Oroweth had announced the poachers were thought to be.  
  
The pinprick glow of the torches, travelling quickly, attracted many of the contents of the forest towards the warriors. Eyes reflected from the deep shadows surrounding the Elves; from the trees, from the bushes and from the still, spring air where moths and other insects hummed about. None of the eyes bothered the Elves, however. They had not done for many long years; not since the Elves had proven themselves more than capable of killing any living thing to cross their path in an unfriendly manner. Very occasionally, hints of a face would surround a pair of overly daring eyes; suggestions of fur, the possibility of a snout, the chance of a drooling mouth. At all times, because of these daring creatures, the bright weapons of the Elves glinted, naked, clothed only by the dark.  
  
The band of warriors continued their march in single file, and every so often one of them would turn their head this way and that at the nightly sounds around them. The rustle of new shoots and flowers being stepped on, the crack of a fallen branch being broken by a hungry creature in search of its dinner, the occasional howl of an unfortunate animal becoming dinner and the buzz of insects. This was the world that the Elven warriors knew.  
  
At last, after what seemed like an age, Legolas whispered so quietly to Nuryävié that only the intended listener could hear him, "Do you feel it?"  
  
Equally quietly, Nuryävié replied, "Feel what?"  
  
"Freedom."  
  
"Yes, I feel it. I doubt I could have lived another week without tasting its sweet flavour again. I do love adar, but I wish he did not feel the need to stifle us so."  
  
Legolas nodded in agreement as Nilwethion flicked his eyes around at the quilt of night that hung over them.  
  
"I feel something else, also," whispered Nuryävié, after a few moments more.  
  
"Anger," replied Legolas, "Anger and hatred. It pulses, like a heartbeat. Have you noticed it grow stronger the further in to the woods we get?"  
  
"Aye, I have noticed it. How could I not? Do you think it is the poachers?"  
  
"This close to our halls? I doubt it, unless they are very stupid."  
  
The pair of princes considered this for a while, now walking along side each other. Their hastily thrown together packs bumped up and down slightly as they marched onwards, ever deeper. In their hands, white handled knives glistened like the hidden moon; a warning against any enemy.  
  
"If it truly is the poachers, I doubt it is Dwarves. Even they would not come this close to our halls. They hate us too much. It must be men."  
  
"I do not doubt your words, brother."  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to say more, shadows flickering across his smooth face. Before he had a chance to speak, however, one of the other warriors dropped back to march beside them, holding a long sword in one hand, gripped by his side, and in the other hand he held aloft a flickering torch, its flames spewing light around its bearer.  
  
"Captain Culkemen wishes to speak with you, up at the front of the column. I will stay here and guard the rear for you."  
  
With a nod to the warrior - Legolas recognised him to be a very old and trusted ally of Thranduil named Anoreg who had lived since the first age. With an almost guilty nod, the young prince wondered if Anoreg knew that the three princes were not supposed to be with the party, being such a close friend to the king. He checked himself, quickly. If Anoreg had known, he would have spoken up much earlier.  
  
As the three princes passed up the line of warriors, each one tipped their head slightly as a salute. It was strange, but not unwelcome, to see the sons of Thranduil back in the forests once more. It had been far too long since the return from Imladris all those years ago; many of the warriors were the same ones from that long, exhausting trip.  
  
"You wanted to see us, captain?" was the first thing Legolas said when he reached Culkemen, striding along confidently beside her. The leader of the hunters nodded with a smile, but she kept her piercing eyes ahead of her, scouting out the dark shadows.  
  
"I have been wondering how you managed to let king Thranduil to let you join us on this expedition. I had thought at first it had been Thellind persuading him with those eyes of his. . ." there was a short pause as the four Elves thought about Thellind and his large, practically innocent eyes he had, and how he managed to get his way without having to say a word, ". . .But then I realised that, if it was him, he would be here now. How did you do it?"  
  
An uneasy look passed between the three princes, and suddenly Legolas felt ashamed of lying to the friendly captain. She trusted them, after all. Suddenly, a seed of doubt was sewn in his thoughts. Perhaps Culkemen already knew what they had done, and had pushed them in to a trap to see if they were telling the truth. The young prince decided to take a gamble, and drew his breath, hoping that they would not be sent back.  
  
"Listen, Culkemen. . . we were not entirely truthful to you when we told you that adar had given us permission to tag along. . . To be honest, we never even asked him."  
  
As the princes watched Culkemen for a reaction, she didn't even blink. Legolas had been correct in his assumptions. She had known full well that Thranduil had not been consulted on the matter. At last, she gave a slight nod. Overhead, the branches seemed to be curling together to form an archway, completely blotting any hope of even sighting a suggestion of the velvety sky or winking stars. The thicker the branches grew, the fewer and fewer eyes appeared. Behind him, Legolas heard the sound of a weapon being sheathed, then another, then another.  
  
"I thought you would tell me the truth," Culkemen stated, after a while. "If you had not, I would have sent you strait back."  
  
"Ah, Culkemen, you hurt us! How could you even think that we would lie to you?" tried Nilwethion, his voice dripping with an obviously fake attempt to sound as though he had been stung. The Elf he was addressing raised her fine eyebrow.  
  
"You lied to your adar, did you not?"  
  
For a moment, Legolas thought about this, his brow furrowed.  
  
"No, we did not. We just did not tell him anything. Besides, you have not tried to keep us prisoner, like birds in the cage of a mortal queen." Culkemen snorted - a most undignified and un-Elflike gesture.  
  
"You just think I am soft on you, and would like to keep it that way."  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to make an indignant reply, and then shut it again, realising that the fair captain was correct in her judgment. Instead, he bit his lip and suddenly found the dark trees very interesting. At this, Culkemen let out a light-hearted laugh. She knew full well that the princes twisted her around their little fingers whenever they wanted something, but in truth, she had no objection to being used in such away at all. Perhaps it was because they had lost their mother, and felt the need to fill in the motherly role for the sons of her king, or perhaps she just thought that they were lovable rogues, but either way, all she knew was that she, as well as they, wanted to keep things just the way they were.  
  
Unfortunately, beyond any thoughts or suspicions of what Culkemen was harbouring of the future, she would not be prepared for the nasty turn that events would soon take.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
A/N: Oh look, the Emerald Queen has finished her chapter with a cliffy again. Naughty Emerald Queen. ^_^  
  
Kudos and cookies to anybody who can tell me where the chapter title is from!  
  
REVIEW REPLY THINGY  
  
SILVERKNIGHT7 ~ I've updated!  
  
DISCODELIC ~ Not quite first, but very nearly. You posted the second review. I'm so very glad you like the themes, and yes, sneaking out is very fun. As for whether Thellind will ever speak again. . . I'm not sure. Certainly not in the near future. Perhaps in a later fiction. Perhaps.  
  
ORODRUIN ~ I wasn't actually too sure how Oroweth predicting his brother's reactions would go down, but I'm glad I added that bit in now.  
  
COOLIO02 ~ Everybody seems to have the same questions and points to make. As I said to DiscoDelic, Thellind will not speak anytime soon, if he ever speaks at all.  
  
ALLYRIEN CHANTEL DE MONTREVE ~ Ah, long pauses. They work wonders for the dramatic tension.  
  
KISTUNE ~ ^_^  
  
LOTR CHIC ~ I don't seem to remember seeing your name before on the review board for Princes of Mirkwood. Have you changed your name? Or were you a lurker? Or do I just have an awful memory? 


	3. The Trees May Bud, The Waters Run

Chapter 3 - The Trees May Bud, The Waters Run  
  
Sitting at his large dinning table, chewing on a piece of bread, King Thranduil sat pouring over official documents with a frown on his face. As his eyes skimmed over the black, ink letters on the curling paper, the lines of concentration on his forehead deepened. Idly, the king took another bite of his bread, the roll resting in his hand as it sprinkled crumbs on another important looking letter, although the second letter was still sealed with dark red wax. Still concentrating on his letter, a cause for much concern, Thranduil brushed away the crumbs. Well, to be accurate he actually brushed his hand through the air a few inches above the stray crumbs, but he did not realise how far out his aim was. He looked up as the great door opened and Oroweth walked in, trailed by Thellind. He smiled lovingly at them, and then turned his attention back to the letter as the two princes sat down.  
  
After a few moments of silence, Thranduil looked up again. His crown of woodland flowers threatened to slip off his head, but he carefully pushed it back up to the top of his head again. The white flowers that were woven together to make this unusual crown were plucked from the forest floor, and the merry coloured buds were taken from the large trees that made up his realm.  
  
"Will you not eat?" he asked  
  
"Adar. . . there is no food on the table. You brought the bread from your study, after failing to eat it at breakfast."  
  
With a confused frown, the king looked at the table. Indeed, his son was correct. The only food in the room was the crust of bread he held in his hand. Thranduil blinked with surprise, and then looked down at the letters and official documents in his place.  
  
"Perhaps you ought to rest, adar. You have not stopped working for weeks!"  
  
In reply, Thranduil shook his head, his golden hair shaking like the river Anduin when sun shone down on it in the middle of the summer. He held out the letter in his hand to Oroweth and the picked up the next one and opened the dark red seal with a sharp flick of the knife laying in wait to spread butter over bread.  
  
"Old King Dorlas has informed me that his grandchildren have been kidnapped not long ago. At least, that is how it would seem. They were playing in the fields one day, and then they just disappeared. Not a trace of them has been found since. He suspects a group of Dwarves who had been resting in the town on their way to Moria." Here, the king sniffed disdainfully. "I do not doubt his words. Dwarves are disgusting creatures; the scum of the earth."  
  
With similar expressions of disgust on their faces, Oroweth and Thellind sniffed, their fair faces turning sour at the thought of the stubby miners. Not one of the royal family cared for Dwarves in any shape or form, and the two races rarely conversed or traded. King Thranduil had his own smiths to cut gems.  
  
"Do you think they have anything to do with the poachers, adar?" asked Oroweth after another few moments. Finishing off the bread and brushing the crumbs off the papers scattered around him, the king thought about it.  
  
"Most likely. I wonder how close Culkemen has come to finding them."  
  
At this remark, Oroweth and Thellind looked at each other guiltily, and then looked away. Nervously, Thellind fiddled with the cutlery laid out in his place as they waited for the food to come and supply a change of subject. If not a change of subject, then at least a distraction. As yet, Thranduil still had absolutely no idea that three of his sons had made a valiant escape attempt and were currently traipsing around the dark forest. Thranduil looked up from the new letter and looked around, as if suddenly realising something.  
  
"Have the others decided not to grace us with their company again?" he asked. Prince Oroweth bit his lip and looked at his younger brother nervously. Under the gaze of his parent, he squirmed uncomfortably. Sensing that something was being hidden from him, Thranduil carefully laid down his letter and clasped his hands together, his elbows resting on the heavy, ancient table. He narrowed his eyes at Oroweth and Thellind, sat directly opposite him.  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
In a rush, Thranduil got the required answer.  
  
"I am sorry adar, but last night when I told you they were not hungry, I was not being entirely truthful. Well, I was not lying, because they were not hungry, but that was not the reason they did not come and join us." He paused, beads of sweat appearing on his noble brow under the pressure of the glare of the king. "You see. . . they have. . . that is. . . they choose. . . they are not quite here."  
  
"Not. . . quite. . . here? Oroweth, I fear that in my old age the language must be have changed considerably to the way I spoke in my youth. You see, as I understand it, you are telling me that four of my sons are only partly here. How can anybody be partly in one place, and yet partly in another? Would you care to elaborate?"  
  
It was at this point that Oroweth wished he could be more like Thellind, never speaking a word. Although, he considered, that would be little help as Thranduil would just give him a piece of paper and a pen. Perhaps he ought to have escaped to the forest with Culkemen. . .  
  
"Astaler is following three of his novices, I think Luinorn said."  
  
"And the others?"  
  
The glare that emitted from the other side of the table would have made Gandalf wither. The sudden drop in temperature would have suggested that, had Oroweth and Thellind not known better, they were in the middle of winter and surrounded by deep drifts of ice and snow. They shivered, and Oroweth gulped as Thellind looked away. The eldest of the two would never have thought that breaking the news to his father would be so difficult.  
  
"Well, adar, they are. . ." he paused and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, "they told Culkemen that you said they could go with her to find the poachers."  
  
His teeth bit down on his lip as the prince waited for the explosion, his eye lids still squeezed shut with so much force that they may as well have been glued together with sap from a tree. Instead of the expected explosion, all Oroweth heard was a small whimper. With a shade of terror, he prised open one eyelid. After realising that he was probably not in any immediate danger, he opened his other eye.  
  
Across the table, Thranduil was staring at him with wide open eyes, a startlingly white face that would have made snow seem like a dark grey, his lips pursed together as though he had eaten something sour, and his nostrils flared with horror. His hands were clutched in to fists, completely crumpling the letter he was holding, and his knuckles were a similar shade to his face.  
  
"My sons are in the forest?"  
  
Oroweth nodded, slowly.  
  
"With Culkemen?"  
  
Again, the prince nodded.  
  
"Searching for poachers?"  
  
Another nod.  
  
"Where there are giant, Elf eating spiders, wolves, wargs and other similar, unfriendly creatures?"  
  
Nod.  
  
There was a long, drawn out silence, and then Thranduil shut his eyes tightly. Thellind and Oroweth looked at each other, wide eyed. Each was as scared as the other. By mutual, silent agreement, the pair slid their chairs away from the table and got up to leave as quickly as possible. They would be able to get some food later, if they became hungry, but neither wanted to be in the presence of their father when he was upset like this. They were half way to the door, careful not to turn their back on Thranduil, when the king spoke.  
  
"What must I do to keep my sons safe?" his voice was no more than a whisper, yet it was so full of emotion and pain that it struck the two princes like a dagger through the heart. He shook his head sadly, as a glistening tear fell from his eye. He looked up at a picture that hung on the wall; his dead beloved, queen Imlammthien.  
  
"Ah, my love, am I such a terrible adar that my sons want nothing more than to run away from me? I am sorry, my sweet, I am so sorry. Have I failed you, as well as them? Was it so wrong to keep them cooped up here, like twittering little birds in a cage, desperate to be free? What am I to do?"  
  
"Adar. . . ?" Oroweth began to speak, but the king cut him off by standing up with a swift movement and the swish of his dark green robes, and the issue of an order.  
  
"Go and find Silnan, and tell him to assemble twenty warriors. We are going out after my sons, and we will bring them back."  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
In the dark grey shadows that indicated day time in Mirkwood, a shadow moved in the tree tops, darker than the other shadows around it. A lonely ray of sunlight pierced the canopy as the leaves rustled, and they caught sight of a bright, blue eye. An Elven eye, belonging to a young novice. As quickly as it had appeared, the ray of light was expelled from the forest again as the leaves above the novice swayed. On the branches, small buds and newly opened flowers rested, feasting upon what little light the grey shadows of day offered.  
  
The previous night, the three novices had not got very far in the pitch blackness. They had nimbly made their way along the upper branches, occasionally catching a glimpse of the sliver of moon that shone brightly, and here and there being twinkled at by stars piercing the thick layer of spring leaves. Wisely, they had decided that Mirkwood forest at night time was bad enough and that they would wait until the morning; going to the thorn thicket that they were headed for would be downright foolish, considering the creatures that stalked that area of the forest at night.  
  
Now, the three novices had been travelling since first light and they were hungry. Very hungry, as they had not taken any food with them when sneaking out of the gate. Why would they? Master Astaler had hinted that, perhaps they ought to, but they had not remembered to bring anything. At last, Caranthon stopped and flopped down on the branch she was sitting on.  
  
"I need food."  
  
Celrin nodded in agreement as Squirrel peered in to the darkness, watching out for unfriendly eyes.  
  
"I need water."  
  
From his vantage point in the next tree, Squirrel paused thoughtfully, trying to remember something.  
  
"There is a stream not too far away, I think. Do you remember that little trickle we found last summer? Well, as it has been raining recently, I think it would have swelled in size. We could go and get water from that."  
  
At this, his two friends perked up. In the lower branches, not too far away, but completely hidden from view, Astaler smiled to himself. The more he watched the three novices, the more promise of good warriors he saw.  
  
"I think it is only half a mile away," said Caranthon, thinking hopefully about the stream. The stream that they were all thinking of was not shown on any maps - it was far too small. It sprang up in the rocky grounds to the south, winding around the forest in hardly known twists and turns, and then eventually joined the forest river away to the north. As ideas went, this one seemed perfect.  
  
With a quick change of direction, the novices headed of on a tangent in a different direction. Behind them, Astaler followed, moving quickly and silently through the tall, ancient trees. The prince wondered vaguely if he would be in trouble with his father for leaving the novice training grounds, but then he banished the thought from his mind and relished the feeling of freedom, not knowing that elsewhere in the forest three of his brothers were feeling exactly the same.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
The band of warriors had stopped once, not long before dawn, before they carried on with their long march again. When they had stopped, Anoreg had revealed to the princes that he had, in fact, known full well that they were out of bounds and breaking the rules laid down by the king. Gratefully Legolas, Nuryävié and Nilwethion thanked him many times for not giving away their escape attempt to the king. Anoreg had simply shrugged and told that, if he was in their place, he would have made an escape attempt long ago. Not that he blamed the king for his actions; being a parent himself, he would do anything to protect his children from harm, even though they were fully grown warriors, including shutting them away if necessary.  
  
The three princes were now marching along next to Culkemen, listening eagerly to everything she had to say. She told them all the little details of the mission that the princes had not known. Capture not kill, for instance. Apparently king Thranduil wanted to question them before deciding their fate.  
  
"We are not far away from the place where the first traps were found," Culkemen said suddenly. Legolas looked around at his surroundings. To a stranger, this part of the forest looked no different to the rest. The twisted boughs, buds threatening to burst open in to flowers on the branches, soft earth covered in brambles trying to catch at leggings, sad skeletons of last years leaves in the process of rotting away and the lack of sunlight all looked practically identical to a spot twenty miles away, but the Elves could tell the difference. The warriors of Mirkwood all knew the forest better than the backs of their hands. The slope of the land, the formation of the trees and the twists in their branches and the chattering of squirrels and birds were all clues as to where they were.  
  
"This close to where we live?" asked Legolas, surprise echoing in the tone of his voice. Culkemen nodded her agreement  
  
"Whatever race these poachers are, they are certainly stupid. I suspect the Dwarves."  
  
Legolas and his two brothers sniggered. Their opinion of Dwarves was no higher than their fathers was. If possible, it was lower. Like most of their race, they believed Dwarves to be stupid, ugly creatures that were stumpy and useful for little. As far as Legolas was concerned, all Dwarves should stay hidden away in their mines and not come out to create an eyesore.  
  
The warriors entered a small clearing. Around the far edge, there were so many brambles and tangles not even a young rabbit could find a path through without its coat being caught and snagging on thorn after thorn. In the centre of the clearing, a few small patches of light had somehow managed to filter through the trees and was now dancing on the earth, encouraging small, hardy flowers to grow. Across one of these patches lay a rabbit, half in and half out of the sun. It was dead. It's neck was broken, ensnared in a trap, and cold blood staining the taught string.  
  
It was the first dead thing that the princes had seen for years on end, and Legolas was suddenly hit with the disturbing thought that death and freedom were entwined. Culkemen shook her head sadly.  
  
"Well, I did not expect them to return to this spot," she said after a moment. Some of the other warriors nodded their agreement, muttering curses aimed at the poachers. One of them, Ennyntaur, bent down over the dead form of the rabbit. After studying it for a couple of seconds, he looked up again.  
  
"It is fresh," he informed the warriors, "I think it was killed sometime late last night, or early this morning."  
  
Culkemen strode over to the pathetic form of the dead creature and, almost immediately agreed with him, judging the death to have been around dawn.  
  
"It is likely that the poachers will come along soon to collect their 'winnings'" she said thoughtfully, "Ennyntaur, I want you to stay here Narbeleth, Novemyn, Hirilmir and Dúlain. Watch for the poachers. When they make an appearance, follow them but do not make them aware of your presence. If they lay down any more traps then wait until they have all gone then make sure the traps are disabled and unable to harm any creatures unfortunate enough to cross their paths. We will go and see if there are many more traps in the area."  
  
The five Elves nodded and swiftly climbed up a tree, melting in to the shadows out of sight. It did not take long for the Elves on the ground to find tracks left by the poachers, and they had departed within a matter of minutes.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
With a delighted laugh Squirrel, Caranthon and Celrin found their stream. As Squirrel had guessed, the recent rainfall had made the stream swell. They ran up to the trickling water and knelt down next to it, then scooped the clear, cool water in to their hands and tipped it in to their thirsty mouths. In the shadows, Astaler grinned to himself. His earlier assumptions had been correct. The young Elves, even though they were not yet fully grown, would definitely make good warriors one day. He carefully noted how they scooped the water in to their hands first, instead of lowering their heads to the stream to drink. Good. They would be much more aware of their surroundings, and would not swallow anything unsavoury like a water bug.  
  
The novices filled their flasks, laughing and chattering as their thirst had been quenched, though they were still hungry. Suddenly, Squirrel saw something that made him blink. He stood up, his knees and shins now muddy, and jumped over the small stream. Caranthon and Celrin stopped their insistent chatter and followed his lead. They looked down at the bank of the stream, and frowned.  
  
They were not the first visitors to the stream that day.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
A/N: Even more new characters! All of them mine, so please don't take them. Not that they've done much yet. . . although Ennyntaur did have a little cameo in Princes of Mirkwood.  
  
Again, I'm wondering if anybody knows where the title came from. Nobody even tried to guess the last one. Clue: they're from the same place. Exactly the same place. Kudos and cookies if anybody manages to guess it. Heck, even a guess would be good, even if it's further from the answer than the Vogons are from writing good poetry!  
  
REVIEW REPLY THINGY  
  
SILVERKNIGHT7 ~ Yes, the king did find out that his sons had gone. Yes, I am very naught leaving a cliffy like that. I've left another one.  
  
ORODRUIN ~ Ah, you know me too well! The novices and the princes are going to meet up eventually. . . but under what circumstances? You can bet they won't be happy ones, what with me writing the fic!  
  
LYN ~ Thank you for pointing out the mistakes; I wouldn't have realised I'd made them otherwise. Are there any I've missed this chapter? 


	4. The Merry Finches Sing

Chapter 4 – The Merry Finches Sing  
  
The three novice warriors stared at the slightly wiggly path of footprints, as still as three boulders covered in moss and left in a valley for years on end. Their wide eyes ran over the prints, searching for clues, just as Astaler had taught them how to do not very long ago.  
  
"Who do you suppose it was?" asked Caranthon at last, hardly moving her lips and speaking in a whisper.  
  
"Do you think it could be those poachers?" replied Celrin after a few moments. There was another pause, and only the trickling of the stream could be heard and odd sounds now and then echoed from far away in the trees. From close by, a finch twittered away to anybody who was listening, singing a merry little melody that was pleasing for the young elves to hear.  
  
"I thought Master Luinorn said that dwarves only ever travel around in groups of fourteen."  
  
Shrugging slightly, Celrin turned his head so that he could see Squirrel clearly. The young novice was staring at the tracks with a calculating stare, his head tipped slightly to one side. He was frowning, and his mouth was moving slightly, as if he was talking to himself.  
  
At that moment, a finch fluttered down to the small stream, not taking any notice of the novices on the other bank, all of whom were now silent again, contemplating the tracks. It fluffed itself up, displaying its speckled chest and ruffled its wings, before putting its tiny head down to take a drink of the cool, swift running water. After taking its fill, the little finch raised its head and warbled a merry little tune, and then gracefully launched itself back in to the darkness of the trees.  
  
"I think we ought to go," muttered Squirrel, "I do not think that the people who made the tracks are dwarves, because they are not deep enough for a fat creature, however stumpy they may be. Besides, even if the tracks do belong to dwarves, what are we supposed to do if we find them? I think we ought to just go and find the thorns."  
  
He looked around at his friends who, after dragging their eyes away from the mysterious tracks, nodded silently. They stood up and, in the time it took to blink twice, had pulled themselves up in to the mossy branches of the dark trees, surprising a bird so much that it jumped up in to the air and twittered angrily at them for disturbing its nest where a small clump of little eggs lay waiting to hatch. The novices smiled at it apologetically, before leaping off through the trees, followed closely by Astaler who they still had not realised was tracking them. The prince smiled to himself, congratulating both himself and Luinorn for the fine novices who would soon be ready to become fully fledged warriors.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
From the entrance of the great, underground halls of the king, two figures stood next to each other, ignoring the guards. Their eyes were fixed on the winding path down which elves on horseback could just be seen in the gloom.  
  
"Well," said Oroweth sadly, "they tried. I would not like to be them when adar catches up with them."  
  
Thellind shook his head, silent as ever, his arms hanging limply by his side.  
  
After they had stood there for a few more minutes, Oroweth shrugged and turned around, disappearing in to the lamp lit caves. His brother followed closely, turning his head around for a final look back at the path, and then scampered out of sight.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
Unlike by the banks of the stream where the novices had heard the singing of the finches, the dark part of the forest with its black twisted branches through which Culkemen stalked, followed closely by the three miscreant princes and the rest of the warriors under her command, there was no birdsong. The only things that were to be heard were the snuffles of debatable creatures, or every so often the sound of a soft growl of a beast supposing itself to be cornered by a hunting party, warning the elves not to get any closer. Holding their torches up high, even though it was grey morning, the warriors peered around them all the time, watching and listening carefully for the sound of predators.  
  
At last, they entered a small clearing, not unlike the one where they had discovered the sad little body of the rabbit. This one, however, did not have any dead creatures in it.  
  
That is not to say that it did not have any traps.  
  
On the northern edge of the clearing there was a large, ugly trap sprung shut. It was old and rusty, and the teeth were covered in blood from some unfortunate, long dead creature and now, it was covered in the blood of another creature. This creature, however, had not had the instant death of the last victim of the trap.  
  
The prisoner was a large black squirrel. Its hind leg was snapped in to two, hanging limply and painfully by a small stretch of fur and flesh, and it had clearly lost a lot of blood, as the red, sticky substance was in a pool around it, soaking the earth and matting the fur of the unfortunate creature. It was struggling feebly, and even as the elves stepped in to the clearing it tore its flesh a little more and chattered with pain.  
  
With a gasp of disgust towards the setters of the trap, Culkemen sprang across the clearing. She knelt down beside the trap and tried to pull it open gently, but the rusty hinges mixed with the thick blood which coated the trap would not budge. Legolas and Nilwethion crouched down beside her and stared at the meek little creature struggle, desperately clutching on to the dregs of its life as they drained away from it. Flies were already beginning to buzz around it, zipping this way and that, occasionally landing on it.  
  
"Even if we managed to free its leg from the trap, the poor thing would still be dead before we left this place," muttered Legolas. He looked up at Culkemen, whose lips were pursed with anger and eyes narrowed with hatred.  
  
"We ought to just put an end to its misery," agreed Nilwethion. Not far away, Nuryävié stood with Anoreg, watching with glazed eyes as if he were thinking of something from far, far away. Legolas suspected that the prince was remembering the events of twelve years ago, and indeed, when he looked back down at the miserable squirrel caught in the trap he could almost see his naneth lying dead, and the life draining away from his sister.  
  
"Yes," muttered Culkemen at last, "I suppose it would be the kindest thing to do to the poor little thing."  
  
She stood up, leaving Legolas and Nilwethion by the pathetic creature, its life almost drained, and marched over to discuss something with Anoreg. Nuryävié was still staring in to space, his face blank. The other warriors were paying more attention to Culkemen than to the two princes sitting by the black squirrel.  
  
Legolas stroked its blood soaked head with pity, and the squirrel froze, terrified that it was about to become dinner, and then shuddered. Suddenly it went limp, never to move again. It had never even felt the sharp dagger with the white handle belonging to Legolas pierce its heart, killing it instantly. The two princes stood up and walked away from the pitiful, forlorn form, still caught in the trap.  
  
"What do we do next?" asked Legolas as he glided over to the captain as Nilwethion went over to Nuryävié, talking softly to him and bringing him out of his trance.  
  
"Well, we shall. . ." and then she stopped mid sentence with shock.  
  
A troupe of dwarves had just stumbled in to the clearing, and they were blinking foolishly at the elves like lazy owls caught in sunlight.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
The thorn patch where the warriors of Mirkwood harvested the poisons for the tips of their arrows and swords was silent. Nothing moved, and there were no sounds of birds singing or howls from further away in the forest. No animals lived near the thorns. The poison worked fast, and any creature which had tried to make its home around the area had learnt very quickly . . . and had never learnt anything else again. Around the thicket for a few feet there was nothing. The roots spread far, and choked any other plants trying to live there. The fearfully long thorns were similar to those that grew in Mordor, and the small flowers that rested on the branches seemed to have been stolen from some other, prettier plant.  
  
A pair of watery blue eyes peered over the edge of a low branch, and then it shot back in to the dark abyss, hidden by large leaves and long shadows. Then, a few seconds later, three pairs of booted feet sprang lightly on to the dark grass.  
  
"The thorns!" whispered Celrin gleefully, "We made it!"  
  
Squirrel bounded ahead of the other two, almost skipping lightly over the ancient, dry leaves that had fallen the previous autumn, and coming to a halt just in front of the thorns.  
  
"One flower each," muttered the young elf under his breath, "though they never said how many thorns. . ."  
  
Being careful not to prick his hand or forearm on any of the sharp, threatening thorns, the young novice reached out and gently plucked one of the dark flowers off the thick branch, then slipped it in to a pouch that hung on his leather belt. Beside him, Celrin also pulled off one of the flowers, though he did it with a little less care than Squirrel had done. A petal fell off his flower, and it floated to the ground, drifting slowly downwards on the still, stifling air. Shrugging, the novice snapped a couple of the dangerous thorns off the plant, this time being a lot more careful. Where the thorns were broken away, a black liquid seeped slowly out of the branch. It was the poison that filled the thorns and tipped the weapons of the warriors and killed any creature unlucky enough to get it in their bloodstream.  
  
"They are so beautiful!" gasped Caranthon, finger her own flower when she picked it off the branch, as if it was a precious gem or newly born animal. She looked up at her friends, a smile widening on her pretty face. "I want to make myself a crown with them! Help me pick a few more."  
  
Keeping one of the flowers in the palm of her slim hand, she reached out and picked another, and then another, and then another. Glancing sideways as her collection of little flowers grew, she giggled at the stunned expressions of the boys. When at last she was satisfied that she had gathered enough of the little things, she skipped merrily over the ground away from the twisted, ugly branches and flopped down to the floor. Carefully, she began to twist the pretty flowers together in a long string. Squirrel and Celrin sat down next to her, forming a small circle. For a while, there was silence, and then Squirrel looked around nervously.  
  
"Do you feel it?" he asked quietly. Celrin, who had been watching Caranthon making her crown of flowers, looked up. Caranthon lifted her head suspiciously and then, after a few moments, went back to her little crown.  
  
"Feel what?" asked Celrin, and then . . . "Do you think we are being watched?" he whispered. Squirrel shrugged, but they scanned the dark eaves of the forest. Caranthon finished her crafting and positioned the completed headdress, then looked around the forest again. She stood up, continuing to look around the forest for any signs that they were not alone.  
  
Hidden in the darkness of the trees, Astaler smiled to himself. So they had realised he was following them at last? Perhaps, if they got any more jittery, he would show himself. Then, just as he was about to leap down from the branch where he was perched and congratulate them, he heard something on the forest floor. The prince looked down, and his eyes widened. The novices were not alone, and nor was he. . .  
  
"Come on, we ought to be getting back," muttered Celrin. Nodding, the other two followed him and then, just as they had reached the safety of the trees, Caranthon gasped.  
  
"I forgot to get any thorns!" she yelped. Before Squirrel or Celrin could offer her any of their own thorns, the girl darted back out in to the open, sprinting towards the spiky plant.  
  
"Squirrel, Celrin, look out!"  
  
Startled by the voice of Astaler, Squirrel and Celrin froze and looked around. Suddenly, Squirrel felt a large pair of arms that smelt unclean fasten itself around him, pinning his arms down by his sides. He cried out in fear, and then tried to struggle and writhe. Wondering why Celrin had not jumped to his aid, Squirrel looked around, only to see his friend also struggling to escape. A large man, hidden under a travel stained hood and cloak had lifted Celrin off the ground and had his hand clamped firmly over the novices mouth.  
  
"Caranthon, run!" cried Squirrel. Turning around in a flash, Caranthon saw what was going on, dropped her thorns and ran off in the other direction.  
  
Suddenly, the man holding Squirrel went limp and fell to the ground, almost crushing the helpless elf. He gurgled and spluttered for a few moments, and then lay still. An arrow bolt was pierced through his neck. The man holding Celrin fell in a similar way, this time not even having the time to splutter before crashing to the ground. Celrin wriggled out from underneath the corpse and tried to pull Squirrel free as Astaler leapt down from the tree, his sword drawn, and slashed at five more men who had appeared from the bushes.  
  
"Run!" he cried, wishing that the novices would hurry up. Squirrel, however, was still stuck under the dead mortal, and the man was too heavy for Celrin to be able to move alone. Although he was training to be a novice, Celrin was not as strong as he would have like to be, nor imagined himself to be.  
  
Another cluster of men lumbered out of the bushes and effortlessly, one of them scooped up Celrin as though he was just another flower on the thorn bush. Another two grabbed Squirrel and pulled him out from underneath their dead comrade. Like Celrin, Squirrel was picked up unceremoniously and pinned down under the great, stinking arms of the man. As he was carried away in the bushes, the last thing he saw of Astaler, desperately trying to rescue them, was a long, ugly blade ramming its way through the prince's shoulder, and then another sword pierced his side. As a third sword swung towards the prince, he was swallowed by shadows and darkness, and Squirrel could see nothing more.  
  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~  
  
A/N: I finally managed to find time to update! As soon as I update, look what I go and do. Not only one cliffy, but two of the horrible things! Aren't I a wicked little thing? Next chapter will hopefully be up soon.  
  
REVIEW REPLY THINGY  
  
NARLILTA FIREDANCE ~ Yup, I have a fairly good idea how evil my cliffies are. Would you say that these ones are fairly bad, as cliffies go?  
  
ORODRUIN ~ *Applauds* well done! Although, as I have more chapters now, it's fairly obvious where the song came from. The people by the stream weren't the poachers, but you won't find out until later who really made them.  
  
SILVERKNIGHT7 ~ I have updated at last but, many apologies, it wasn't very soon.  
  
ALLYRIEN CHANTEL DE MONTREVE ~ Ah, but my dear, when does Thranduil like any development that he doesn't plan?  
  
KISTUNE ~ Well, as you can see, there are actually dwarves bumbling around the forest. Then again, they aren't the only trespassers. Messes with the head, doesn't it?  
  
ANGRYTOLKIENPURIST ~ Yes, the elves do eat meat, but that isn't the point. The point of the poachers is that they are stealing meat which, by rights, belongs to the elves of Mirkwood. Say you had a warren of rabbits living in your back garden. If somebody kept stealing them, you wouldn't be very happy about that at all, would you?  
  
AMLEE ~ Thank you so much ^^. I've finally got back, but it wasn't very soon  
  
COOLIO02 ~ As I said to Allyrien, Thranduil is very rarely happy if something is happening that he didn't plan. 


	5. Or It Maybe 'Tis Cloudless Night

Chapter 5 – Or There Maybe 'Tis Cloudless Night  
  
To Legolas, all dwarves looked the same. About half his height with long beards tucked in to their thick belts and ugly, stocky armour with some form of axe slung over their backs. The only way he could tell the difference between them was the colour of their thick, wiry beards and the plaits down their back. The dwarves before him were certainly no different. They were just as bumbling and foolish as the few other dwarves he had ever set his eyes on.  
  
He watched, therefore, with much curiosity and growing respect, as Culkemen and Nuryävié seemed to be able to remember the names of each one of the stumpy creatures. Although things currently seemed to be going smoothly, that was not how the situation had started out. Both parties, after a few stunned seconds of a shock filled pause, had pulled out their weapons in a flash. It had been unsure for both sides who were supposed to assume the aggressive stance, and whom ought to have assumed the defensive stance. For what seemed like an eternity they had glared at each other, and then the leading dwarf had rammed the end of his axe in to the soft, dark earth and laughed a great, belly laugh and, for some reason, had applauded.  
  
"You ought to be more aware of what happens in your forest, oh great warriors!"  
  
Culkemen had pursed her lips at that, and Legolas knew that if looks could kill, the dwarf would have been stone dead. He suspected that the dwarf had been using sarcasm, but wasn't entirely sure.  
  
"You ought not to be trespassing in our forest, or poaching, master dwarf," Anoreg's curt reply had been. It was the dwarves turn to glare at that, but the leader's face was still plastered with so much mirth that his eyes twinkled brightly in the half light.  
  
"Poaching? We have taken nothing from your cursed darkness, believe you me, elf. We are only trying to find our way out! You can keep your filthy beasts to yourselves."  
  
The speaker was a particularly fat dwarf whose beard was so long it almost trailed along the floor. His eyes narrowed in disgust. Clearly he did not share his leader's sense of humour.  
  
"So who, pray, set the traps?" Legolas had not intended his voice to tumble out of his mouth in such a snarl, but he was insulted at his realm being cursed by the old, fat creature standing before him. The only thing which had kept him from killing the dwarf on the spot was the bloodbath that would ensue, and he knew that before the dwarves were killed, answers were needed.  
  
The leading dwarf rested his arms on his axe and leant forwards slightly, his brow furrowing.  
  
"What traps?"  
  
Culkemen had quickly explained to the dwarves about the traps that had been found in the clearings, never taking her narrowed eyes off the leader. She did, however, lower her bow, leaning on it in a manner similar to the dwarf she was staring at. He kept nodding so frequently at her words that Legolas wondered if his head was about to drop off, or if he had something wrong with his neck.  
  
Eventually the prince had tuned out, unable to concentrate on Culkemen's recollection of what he already knew. Instead he watched the dwarves, trying to find ways to tell each one apart. Although they all wore similarly shaded outfits of dark brown leather or chain mail that he suspected had once gleamed brightly, Legolas began to notice little differences between them. This one, for instance, had a ruby in his belt, whereas the next one along had a couple of little emeralds woven in to the long beard that was tucked in to his belt. That had taken him to where they were now, with Culkemen and Nuryävié speaking rapidly in low tones with the leading dwarf, whose name Legolas had not caught, and another, slightly smaller dwarf. The smaller dwarf looked like the youngest of the lot. His chain metal still had a shine on it and his reddish brown beard came to two neat points, splitting at the chin.  
  
"He's the third son of a king," whispered Anoreg, who had been watching Legolas for some time. "It makes this whole situation much more difficult. If we try to take them to our prison cells, there will be a war. If we start a fight, there will be a war. In fact, if we do anything other than let them go, there will end up being a war. I hope Culkemen and Nuryävié know what they are doing."  
  
"We have princes too," muttered Legolas. Anoreg smiled grimly and nodded.  
  
"Do you really think we would tell them that?"

...

The area around the thorn bushes was silent. Not a leaf rippled with movement and not a branch swayed under the clear, piercing starlight. A forlorn figure lay unmoving under the high canopy, blood seeping on to the clutter of the nearby forest floor. His pale hands failed to twitch as they appeared to glow in the pitch black world. His face was hidden in the leaves, covered by a mass of sleek, dark hair which was spread around his head like a halo. By one hand lay a sword, it's blade washed with dark blood.  
  
Suddenly, the branches above him rustled, as if kissed by a cool night breeze. There was another, louder rustle, whispering around the gigantic trees, and then, as if out of nowhere, a small figure dropped on to the leafy carpet beside the limp figure. The newcomer stretched out her fingers and tapped the shoulder of the other, and then withdrew her hand quickly.  
  
"Master Astaler?" she whispered, "Master Astaler?"  
  
When the prone creature offered no reply, the young elf became frantic. She turned her head this way and that, as if looking for help from unexpected quarters. None was forth coming, so she looked helplessly back down at Astaler. The crown woven of pale little flowers which sat on her head began to slip down over her eye, so she pushed it back up quickly. A few petals fell from it, drifting gently down through the air and coming to rest beside the prince.  
  
"Master Astaler," she tried again, "please wake up. Please, sir!"  
  
Timidly, she turned the elf over on to his back, and then jumped back as if fearing she would be in trouble.  
  
Astaler moaned slightly; the first sign of life in hours. Breathing a sigh of relief, the little novice knelt down beside him, trying not to look at the gaping wounds. Nervously, she gave the prince a shake. Again he moaned, and then his hand closest to the sword scrunched in to a fist.  
  
"Master Astaler? Master Astaler, are you. . ."  
  
The sentence was cut off with a squeak as the young novice suddenly found a bloodied blade pressed against her neck, angry eyes glowering at her.  
  
As suddenly as the blade had almost slit her skin, the novice master dropped it and clenched his teeth in pain, doubling over. Scared of finding the blade at her throat again, the nervous elf kept her distance, watching with wide and fearful eyes.  
  
"Sorry, Caranthon," growled the prince through clenched teeth, "I thought you were. . ."  
  
His sentence trailed off as the prince looked around at his surroundings. Not far away, hidden by the darkness, a couple of other bodies lay surrounded by blood. One had lost its' head somewhere in the undergrowth. Caranthon blanched as she noticed it.  
  
"One of them?" she asked timidly. Astaler nodded.  
  
The prince looked at his hands. To his anger, he saw that they were covered in blood. His own blood, new from the wounds in his side and shoulder.  
  
"Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose," he muttered to himself.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Where are Squirrel and Celrin?"  
  
His face crunching up with pain, the prince pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His head span, so he staggered over to a tree and leant his back against it, rolling his eyes upwards to the pitch black shadows of the canopy.  
  
"I. . . I don't know, sir. They yelled at me to run, so I ran. Two of the men chased after me, sir, but I lost them in the forest. I think the spiders have got them."  
  
The prince swore under his breath with such foul language that, had his father heard it, he would have been banished to his room, novice master and fully grown adult or not. Caranthon, on the other hand, hardly seemed to notice it. Having two elder brothers who were both warriors, there was nothing she had never heard before.  
  
"Master Astaler?" she ventured, after the prince had held his head in his hands for almost five minutes without moving, "What are we going to do, sir?"  
  
"We?"  
  
Astaler looked over the top of his slender fingers at the skinny creature in front of him with the crown of wilting flowers perched precariously on her head. He was finding breathing difficult and his head was still swimming. The pain from his wounds were dangerously close to affecting his judgement, and he was certain that he would not be able to put up much of a fight against the large mortals.  
  
"Well, sir, they are my friends. They would never desert me, and I will never desert them. What sort of a friend would I be if I left them for dead?"  
  
She quivered with terror as Astaler stared at her, his gaze calculating and penetrating. After a few seconds, he shook his head.  
  
"You do not have enough training. You scare too easily. Captain Culkemen is in this forest somewhere. Do you remember the week before last when Luinorn taught you the bird calls we use to contact each other over?"  
  
Caranthon nodded, unable to speak. She blinked back the rebellious tears that were threatening to spill. She wanted to shout out that she could fight, and that the mortals would never scare her enough to stop her from helping her friends, but she bit her lip. She wanted to remind Astaler how she, Squirrel and Celrin were the first ones to pass the guards in three years, but she stayed silent. Shouting at a fully fledged warrior, not to mention a prince, would not get her anywhere.  
  
"Climb up a tree and call for help. Culkemen ought to be within a few hours march at the very most."  
  
Burning with resentment and embarrassment at being so quickly dismissed, Caranthon scrambled up the nearest branch, pausing half way up to wipe the tears away from her eyes before the spilt down her cheeks like a waterfall. As soon as she had reached the top branches, she stared up at the starlit sky. The moon glinted at her and the stars winked in and out giving out a deceitful feeling of serenity. Steadying herself as the branches rocked gently, the young novice cupped her shaking hands to her mouth and let out a loud hoot, similar to that of an owl.  
  
The trees swayed all around her for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see. The sleepy movement under the cloudless sky would have reminded Caranthon of the sea, had she ever seen it. Having never left the forest, however, the closest thing Caranthon had ever seen to the sea was the small lake close to her home.  
  
The heavy silence rang in her ears for what seemed like cruel hours, but was really only a matter of moment, before an answering call flew through the night. Almost laughing with relief, Caranthon sent out another cry to whoever had heard her.

...

The dwarves were taking longer to deal with than Legolas had hoped. Complete darkness had fallen, so both the dwarves and the elves had built themselves campfires. Both sides were still keeping their hands close to the weapons, though now the axes had returned to their places on the backs of the dwarves and the swords of the elves had returned to their sheaths. The bows had not been stored away, but arrows had been returned to their quivers. The air was thick with anticipation as each party expected the others to try a trick with every second that passed by.  
  
At last, the leading dwarf bowed to Culkemen.  
  
"We would be honoured if you would kindly show us the way out now, Captain. There is nothing more we are able to tell you about our business."  
  
Culkemen hesitated. She knew that, technically, she ought to take the dwarves to the king. That would not be a welcomed prospect on either side, but she knew what her orders were. On the other hand, they had a prince with them. If she was to make them officially prisoners, there would be a lot of political trouble, which would be even less welcomed. The dwarf seemed to note this hesitation.  
  
"If it would make things easier to decide, Captain, I am sure there is something we could you and your _fine_ warriors. In the firelight, the gems on the garments of the dwarves glinted.  
  
"How do we know you will not run off home and tell your friends how the nasty elves stole your most precious belongings?" asked Legolas suddenly from where he sat by the campfire. He glared at the dwarf. Again, the jewels glistened temptingly in the firelight. The prince, however, was hardly tempted by them. He knew his father would, if there were any diamonds, but Legolas had too much dislike for dwarves to trust them that easily.  
  
The dwarven prince muttered something under his breath in his own language, making the other members of his group laugh heartily. Legolas turned red, sure that he had just been insulted, but unable to prove it. Just as the leading dwarf opened his mouth to reply, an owl like hoot flew through the night. All the native warriors recognized it. Exchanging glances, Legolas quickly jumped up in to the nearest tree, swung up through the branches, and then looked around in the chilly night air. Raising his hands to cup his mouth in the same way Caranthon had done moments before. When he heard the answering call, his expression darkened. Replying quickly, he slithered back down the tree and dropped lightly to the floor beside the Captain.  
  
"We have a problem," he muttered, and then looked at the dwarves, all of whom were staring at him. Shaking his head slightly, he corrected himself.  
  
"Another problem."

...

In a completely different part of the forest, five elves were getting very bored. They were the elves perched on trees overlooking one of the clearings where the traps had been found, as ordered by Culkemen. One of them was lying stretched out on his branch with his chin resting on his arms and a leg dangling in the air, swinging gently. The warrior in the next tree was throwing an acorn up and down in a very bored manner, her legs folded and resting her back against the tree so comfortably that she may as well have been sitting on the ground.  
  
"I hate watch duty," she muttered, letting the acorn drop to the ground. It landed with a small thud and rolled for a little way.  
  
Then a horse put its hoof on it, making a crunch sound as it was crushed against a stone.  
  
Thranduil, riding on his huge war horse, looked around the clearing. He was closely followed by Silnan and twenty other warriors, at least half of whom the elves watching from the trees recognized. They exchanged worried glances as Thranduil spoke, his eyes narrowed as they darted around the clearing.  
  
"When I find them, Silnan, there will be no excuses because there will be no time for excuses!"  
  
He was clearly carrying on part of the conversation which the eavesdropping warriors had not heard.  
  
"Of course, your majesty, but what is it you are planning on doing to them?"  
  
The eyes of the seething monarch narrowed even further, concentrating like a wolf about to pounce on its prey.  
  
"We shall see, Silnan. We shall see. Perhaps locking them in their rooms for a fortnight would not be amiss."  
  
Without any further conversation, the party moved on in to the darkness. As soon as the shadows of the final horse and its rider had vanished, the five guards looked at each other, pale faces standing out from the shadows.  
  
"Oh dear," muttered one. The others nodded.  
  
The one who had been lying half asleep on the knotted branch of the tree raised his hands to his mouth, about to utter a warning call. The elf who had been tossing the acorn up and down grabbed hold of his wrist.  
  
"Narbeleth, are you quite foolish?" she hissed, "If you do that, the king will hear us!"  
  
"Well what do you suggest we do?" he replied angrily, running a hand through his long, dark hair. A third warrior, Dúlain, spoke up.  
  
"I suggest we run." A/N: I'm really sorry this chapter's been so long in the making. I had to wait until I'd got all my exams done and dusted, though, and I've got myself a job in a restaurant recently, so that's been taking up quite a bit of time too. Anyway, it's here now. Squirrel and Celrin are going to be back next chapter.  
  
REVIEW REPLY THINGY  
  
ORODRUIN The last chapter was probably my favourite so far, too. I don't think I like this one so much. The novices were noticing the men watching them, because if you remember, they didn't get that feeling of being watched before they'd got to the thorns. I'll try and get back to doing regular chapters, but I can't promise anything.  
  
NARLILTA FIREDANCE Not really so much of a cliff hanger on this one, I'm afraid, but enough (hopefully) to be eager to read the next bit.  
  
ANDI-BLACK Princes of Mirkwood is getting a bit of a revamp at the moment, so I don't think all the chapters matched up. I really need to get time to do a couple more of its chapters. Thanks for reminding me. Much appreciated. 


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